Running Out of Time
by authoressnebula
Summary: Gift for nyghtpet, post 2x02 ELAC: Dean won't speak, Sam won't ask anymore, but he feels like he needs to save Dean. In the end, though, it might be Dean who needs to save Sam.


When Dean stepped inside, Sam didn't even try to say anything. There wasn't really a point anymore; Dean would simply ignore him or glare at him, a silent _Shut up, Sam_ heard loud and clear between them, before Dean would go off to do whatever he did now, and Sam would simply do...nothing. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't help his dad (though that help would be too late now anyways, considering he was dead), he couldn't help his brother, he couldn't help his mom or Jess...

Sam squeezed his eyes tight, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes. He wasn't going down that path again. All it led to was a stomach full of knots and no forward movement. He needed the forward movement again. So did Dean.

The Impala was still out in Bobby's yard, not as bad as before, but not as good as it had been. It still needed time. They all needed time.

They were running out, though. And Sam didn't know how to tell Dean that. He really couldn't. _These are YOUR issues, quit dumping them on me!_

So he wasn't dumping anything on Dean. None of his thoughts, none of his worries, nothing. He was leaving Dean alone, and he was hoping that by giving Dean the space he needed and wanted, that maybe, just maybe, Dean would come back. And then maybe Sam could tell his brother how very worried he was not just about Dean, but about what The Demon had said. What he'd meant about having plans for Sam.

Sam was really starting to miss his brother. It was stupid to miss someone that was in the same house as you were, on the same _floor_ as you, and you couldn't do anything. Couldn't say anything, ask anything, do anything, without making the gap that was already as huge as the Grand Canyon spread even further.

That was Sam's biggest fear: he was going to lose his brother. He felt like nothing he could do would be enough, and he felt like he was running out of time in which to save him from...from...

Sam didn't know. But from something. If he didn't save his brother from whatever the hell it was, he'd lose him forever.

If he hadn't lost him already.

"You all right in that head of yours, Sam?"

Sam raised his gaze to meet Bobby, who had his eyebrow raised as if intrigued by the way the football game was progressing. There was concern in his eyes, though, if you knew where to look for it. And Bobby was definitely concerned.

He began to reply when Dean came back in, and the slight smile that had lingered on Sam's face disappeared. His brother was so tight lipped now, and Sam thought he'd give his right arm to actually see him _smile_ again. "Yeah, I'm all right in my head, though it gets a bit drafty with all the empty space," he joked, hoping his brother would smirk, would agree, would roll his eyes, would stop walking around with eyes set in a narrow gaze and his lips pinched in an eternal frown.

He got none of what he'd hoped for, just more of the same. Dean slammed the door behind him as he went back outside once more, presumably to work on the Impala.

Sam sighed and hung his head. "Your brother just needs some time," Bobby said gently, and to hear Bobby's gruff voice soften told Sam how very concerned the man was. It was comforting and sweet, though Sam wasn't sure he deserved it. That concern needed to be saved for Dean. Dean needed the help right now, not Sam.

Sam just didn't know how to give his brother that help.

"I know," he replied. "I just wish I could make it all better, you know? Wave a magic wand or something. Hell Bobby, if he'd just _say_ something to me, I'd feel better." He felt so useless, so shut out, so hollow. His dad's death had left a hole in his heart, and Dean's silent treatment was only encouraging it to grow until Sam was afraid there'd be nothing left of his heart, and what _was_ left would fall into the created abyss.

He needed to not think for awhile. Thinking just made things worse.

He glanced up at Bobby again, giving him a sad smile. "I miss my brother," he said simply, glancing out the door. He could see Dean's feet from underneath the Impala, nothing else. It was actually sort of easier that way, and he felt selfish and guilty for thinking it, but it was. It hurt too much to watch Dean's face stay twisted in furious grief.

He stood from the sofa, stretching his arms over his head. "I'm gonna go see if there isn't something else I can do," Sam told him. "Do you need anything done? Laundry, dishes, book sorting...?"

Bobby gave him a quiet grin and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Son, you do whatever you want to do, but for Pete's sake, don't do it because you feel obligated to. You boys are like family, and I sure as hell wouldn't see you stayin' anywhere else. It's nice to have company."

"Even if they stay for weeks?" Sam asked. They'd taken so much of Bobby's space and home and time. Surely...

Bobby was nodding before Sam's thought process could go any further. "Even if they stay for _months_," Bobby told him. "I told you boys before, I don't mind at all. You stay as long as you want, but don't _ever_ bring me another totaled car to help mend, you hear me?"

Sam smiled at that, a few airy sounds that almost sounded like a chuckle, before he headed off to the kitchen. "Thanks Bobby," he called over his shoulder, already reaching for the dishrag.

He never saw the smile slide from Bobby's face as the man watched him, then turned to watch Dean. He never saw the man shake his head in despair, before heading back into the study.

* * *

"I think I might've found a gig for us," Sam said hesitantly at dinner. Bobby was almost finished, Dean was halfway through, and Sam was still picking at his. It wasn't that it was bad; it was good, actually. Bobby was a good cook. Sam just...wasn't hungry.

Dean didn't say anything; Sam hadn't expected him to. He felt the same chest tightening worry he'd felt earlier, though, and decided to press his luck and keep going. _You're running out of time,_ a voice told him in the back of his mind. _You're going to lose him._

"It's not far from here; about eighty miles or so. These people keep disappearing around the same forested area, which looks as if it's almost separated from the rest. Like a grove or something. It might be worth checking out."

Dean dropped his fork onto his plate, the move startling Sam. He watched, confused, as Dean grabbed his plate with food still on it, anger clouding his features as he headed to the kitchen. He dumped the plate in the sink, tossed his napkin in the trash, then headed out again, mouth set in firm, tight lines once more.

The door slammed, and Sam sighed, putting his head in his hands, elbows rested against the tabletop. "Should've left him alone," he murmured. Of course Dean didn't want to get back into a gig right away. Sam had pretty much pressured Dean into the gig with the clown, and after that, his brother had bottled up even further.

"Your brother still should've said somethin' besides storm out like a toddler having a tantrum," Bobby muttered, placing one last bite in his mouth before grabbing his own plate and heading for the sink. "Ain't right for him to put the burden of worrying about him on your shoulders, Sam."

"Bobby, he's my brother," Sam said softly, glancing up at the man. "There's no burden of worrying or anything. I'm going to worry because he's my brother." Besides the fact that Dean had worried and cared for him for years; it was about time Sam returned the favor.

Bobby turned back to him, giving him a knowing look. "You should be able to feel like you can talk to him, and you can't even do that. He's makin' you walk on _eggshells_, Sam. He's your brother, for cryin' out loud! He should be the last one to make you feel this way!"

"He needs time," Sam said stubbornly, rising. "You said it yourself, Bobby. I'm going to give him that time. He just...he just needs space. And time." And his little brother bugging him with worries wasn't going to accomplish that.

He headed for the back porch, where he'd been staying, but Bobby's voice made him stop. "Aren't you gonna finish?"

"You can go ahead and save it for leftovers, if you want," Sam called, continuing on his way. "I didn't really touch much. I'm just not hungry."

Bobby watched him go, shaking his head at both brothers for acting the way they were. "For all their smarts, they're a pair of idiots too," he muttered, taking Sam's plate and covering it with tin foil.

* * *

It was a little past three in the morning when Sam finally gave up trying to sleep and went to curl up in the patio chair that was out on the porch along with the futon bed. He'd called out a goodnight to his brother, and had been ignored, as he had all the other nights before. He didn't know what to do. His brother seemed to be getting further and further away from him, and it was a void that Sam couldn't cross. Nothing he said or did had any effect on his brother.

Well, he could piss his brother off by suggesting jobs, but even there, it wasn't the usual pissed off Dean Winchester response he got. There was still silence, too much silence, and Sam felt like he was choking in it. He shifted in his chair and absently rubbed at his neck, as if he could feel the silence tightening around his throat to strangle him.

_I've got plans for you, Sammy._

The memory came unbidden, along with all the other thoughts Sam had repressed for so long, and he pushed the heels of his hands firmly into his eye sockets until he saw spots fill his vision. All of his worries, all of his self doubts, all of his fears and his grief...he'd locked it all away because if he brought it out, he'd inevitably want to talk about it. It's what helped him sort through it all and try to make sense of things. It's why he'd asked so many questions as a child.

Dean didn't want to hear them, though. _These are YOUR issues, quit dumping them on me! _He shouldn't have to hear them. Hell, Sam didn't want to hear them, and they were in his head. Why had he ever thought that Dean would want them, when Dean was already dealing with so much? Dealing with their dad's death, dealing with the Impala, dealing with...

Dealing with Sam. Except he wasn't dealing with Sam anymore. He was avoiding Sam as much as he could, ignoring him and refusing to even look him in the eye. Sam's eyes slowly blinked and widened as he finally really understood what he was trying to save his brother from.

From Sam.

Hadn't Dean even said it? Hadn't he even begged Sam? _These are YOUR issues, quit dumping them on me! _It had been a cry for help, for Sam to leave him be, all the while trying to quietly tell him that it was Sam who was the biggest burden on his shoulders now.

_I've got plans for you, Sammy._

One single sentence, and Sam's world had exploded into panic and fear. Dean had heard it just as easily as Sam had. Sam wasn't the only one who had to be thinking about it.

Everything was falling into place too fast, and Sam ran a trembling hand over his face. "Oh, Dean," he murmured, his voice shaky. His brother was at the breaking point, and Sam had been trying to make things better, and he'd simply made things worse because it was _Sam_ that had his brother at that breaking point. It was _Sam_ who his brother was having to shoulder all by himself, along with the grief of their dad's death and The Demon's words from the hidden away cabin.

Why hadn't Dean told him?

Because he'd been trying to spare him the pain.

Sam didn't want it to have to come down to Dean pulling the trigger because The Demon had gotten its way. No. He wasn't going to be a final burden for his brother to have to end whenever and whatever The Demon's plans were. He wasn't going to be a burden any longer. Enough was _enough_, and Dean had suffered _enough,_ and Sam was ending this.

He rose without a sound, stepping inside to the house. He cautiously made his way through the rooms, and he couldn't help but stop when he passed the room his brother was staying in. He was sleeping now, and he looked so peaceful, so at rest, so _young_, and it killed Sam to know that it was because of him that his brother looked older than he should've.

He wasn't sure where the weapons had been placed, or where Bobby kept his, but Dean's handgun was resting on the shelf near the door, just tucked out of sight. Sam reached over and slid it carefully into his hand, making sure there was a new clip in it before turning to the door.

He stopped again, glancing back at his brother one last time. "I'm sorry," he whispered painfully. _Dean, I'm so sorry for all of this._

He made his way out of the house as silently as he could.

* * *

_I'm sorry._

Dean scrunched up his face, slowly sliding into consciousness. Dammit, he'd been _asleep_, why was someone calling out to him and bothering him?

The soft click of the front door brought him mostly out of his not quite awake stage. He glanced around the room for whomever had been talking to him, but there wasn't anyone there. Just an empty room.

He rolled his eyes but slid out of bed anyways, his feet padding against the wooden floors. He could hear Bobby's soft snores in the room next to him. Hadn't been him, then.

With a sigh he rounded the corner to the outdoor porch, where his brother would probably be up and pacing and brooding over things. So far, there hadn't been any talking, which was just fine with Dean. He didn't want to do talking right now.

Talking meant ripping away the scab he _almost_ had placed over the gaping wound in his heart. He didn't think it would ever stay covered; he knew better then that. He could only hope that the talking wasn't going to happen today.

When he didn't see Sam out on the porch, he frowned. "Sam?" he called, and the name seemed foreign on his tongue. When was the last time he'd spoken his brother's name out loud?

It had been awhile. And now that he thought about it, that bothered him.

"Sam?" he called again, a little louder now, but his brother still didn't answer. Where the hell was he?

The knot wrapped in his chest tightened again, like it did whenever he thought about the mess they were. Whenever he thought about their dad. Whenever he thought about the cabin and The Demon whispering promises of a dark future to his little brother and Sam's eyes going wide with fear. That sonuvabitch was going _down_ for that alone, never mind what it had done to their mom and to Jessica.

But right now, hunting things wasn't top on his list of things to do. It meant more life and death situations, more thinking, and Dean just wanted a break. Shooting things he was good at. Things trying to fight back right now was _not_ on his list of things he wanted most.

What he wanted most right now was to find out where the hell his little brother was and then chew him out for being irresponsible. It was almost three freakin' thirty in the morning, for crying out loud. Where the hell could he be?

He came back into the house, heading for his room to get his shoes to see if Sam was outside, and almost bumped into Bobby. "Wh's goin' on?" Bobby stumbled, his voice heavy with sleep still.

"I can't find Sam," Dean said shortly, moving around Bobby to sit on his bed and grab his boots. It seemed like everything he did now was fueled by anger, but he couldn't help it. If it wasn't fueled by anger, it would be fueled by grief and tears and screams to whomever would hear him to bring his dad _back_, bring his mom _back_, hell, bring Jess back too while you're at it, just _fix_ this.

Anger was the better route.

"Might just be takin' a moonlight stroll," Bobby said. "Or he might be in the kitchen."

Dean glanced up briefly from where he was tying his boots, frowning. "Why the hell would he be in the kitchen?"

"Didn't eat much at dinner. Fact, I'm not sure he ate anything at all, but that's not much different then any other meal," Bobby said, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to wake up.

Dean paused with his fingers tightly grasped around his laces. That was something he normally noticed, something he'd pester Sam about until he saw food pass through his little brother's lips. He hadn't noticed anything like that lately. He'd just been so focused on the car and the not dealing or thinking about things that he hadn't noticed Sam's not eating.

How out of it had he _been_?

He glanced up to ask, then felt his frown sink even further when he didn't see his gun on the shelf. The knot in his chest tightened for some odd reason, and every nerve screamed at him in a big brother sensory type way that he hadn't felt in ages. _Go find Sam NOW, go, before it's too late._

"We gotta find Sam," he said, heading past a bewildered Bobby and through the house, out the door into the cold night air. He didn't see him in the yard anywhere. Where the hell was his geeky little brother?

"Sam!" he called, glancing around, listening for something. Anything. The tightness in his chest only increased, and Dean had to find Sam. _Now_.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Bobby said, coming out behind him. He didn't sound completely sure of his own words, though, and Dean sure as hell wasn't convinced. Not when everything screamed to find his little brother before something incredibly bad happened.

If his chest tightened any further, he wasn't going to be able to _breathe_. "He didn't take any of the cars," Dean said out loud, glancing around the junk yard. Only three cars were up and operational, and Dean had been outside often enough to know which ones they were and where they were parked. All three sat silently in the yard.

He couldn't follow footprints, even his brother's huge sasquatch ones. He and Bobby had walked outside so much that the dust wasn't soft and clear anymore. Wherever Sam had gone, there wouldn't be any way to track him.

"He couldn't have gone that far then," Bobby said. "We'll find him, Dean."

Dean only nodded tersely, feeling like he was going to fall apart at the seams, no matter how tight his chest was. He moved forward instead, his walk almost a run as he headed for the main gates.

The area around Bobby's place held trees, but there were rocks and jagged edges, as if a mountain had once taken residence here. There were a few hills around still, and Dean scanned them as he walked, praying he'd see a tall idiot he could smack around for scaring the shit out of him.

He rounded the bend in the road and glanced down it, remembering the straight stretch that lasted about five miles. He couldn't see anything, and the moon was full above him, illuminating the pavement. It was the only road in and out of Bobby's, and Sam wasn't on it.

So where the hell was he?

"There's a path up ahead," Bobby told him, pointing even as Dean started walking again. "Leads to a rocky hill of sorts that the kids love to climb. If he wanted to think, he might've gone there. I don't think he knew about it, but..."

"No, he'd find it," Dean snapped, spotting the dirt path leading off into the trees and hurrying up. "His brooding subconscious would've sensed it." Sam finding somewhere quiet and desolate to think and ponder everything wasn't anything new.

Sam going missing the same night as Dean's gun suddenly disappeared off the shelf was something different all together.

The dirt path was easy to navigate down, even though roots kept popping up and almost making Dean trip. He could still feel the urge to find Sam _now_ strong in his chest, making his heart beat fast and hard, and he didn't like it. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pajama bottoms, thinking up what he'd say to his brother first. _What the hell are you doing? Are you even thinking anymore? What part of going off into the night by yourself sounds smart?_

And then he entered the clearing and the words and thoughts stopped as soon as his walking did.

The rocky hill was actually more rocks than hill. There was dust and dirt and few trees surrounding the base of the rocks. The rocks themselves were a zig-zag of sharp joints, enough that someone could climb easily and be surprised at how high they'd gotten so fast.

One of the slabs of rock jutted out about twenty or so feet in the air, nothing beneath it, and Sam was standing on the freakin' _edge_ of it, his eyes cast downward at the huge drop.

_It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end,_ Dean thought hysterically. He remembered how to breathe, then stepped forward, trying to control his sudden harsh panting. Behind him and beside him, he could hear Bobby swearing softly. Dean took a deep breath in, then cleared his throat before calling out to his brother. "Sam?"

Sam glanced over at him in confusion, before his face shifted into an expression of sadness and...disappointment? "I didn't mean to wake you up," he said softly, the apologetic tone obvious in his voice. He turned back to the drop he'd been staring at, face still sadly calm. "Bobby, take him back to your place, would you? I didn't want you guys here for this."

_Bewildered_ slid to _disbelieving _which almost fell into _fearshocknonono_. "Here for what? It's a nice place," Dean said, wondering how he could manage to sound so casual with his brother on the edge of a frickin' long drop, and the words that he was afraid meant what they did. He stepped forward, slowly making his way up the rocks. He could hear Bobby following behind him at a distance. "You didn't want to share something this nice with me? They're nice rocks, Sam. And we were raised to share."

He made it to the long ledge Sam was on before his brother turned around. Up close now, Dean could see a hollowness in his little brother's eyes, a deadness that he hadn't seen since...

Since Jessica had died.

He needed Sam away from that edge _now_.

He took a single step forward, and Sam pulled out the gun that Dean had completely forgotten about in the midst of _SammyledgeSammyno_. Dean froze, and he could hear Bobby doing the same behind him. "I didn't want you here to see this," Sam said quietly. "It's why I left. I didn't want to put this on you, Dean. I'm so sorry. Please go back to Bobby's?"

It was a tone and attitude Dean had heard so many times in their Bad Cop Good Cop routine, except now it was directed at him, and his careful and soft entreating wasn't helping Dean's panic. "I can't do that, Sam," he said honestly. He didn't know what else to say.

Sam's face crumbled. "Dean, you've already got so much on you right now. Dad, the car, The Demon, me...I didn't want my death added to the list of things you had to deal with."

"Woah, woah, _woah_, time _out_," Dean said, anger flooding his tone. "Things I have to deal with? If I hadn't known about your death, then I still would've dealt with your disappearance! Any way you slice it Sam, and I'd have been involved."

Sam began to speak, then stopped, sighing heavily and hanging his head. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said. He raised his eyes to meet Dean's, which by now Dean was fairly certain were conveying all the panic and fear he usually kept hidden from his little brother.

Then he raised the gun to his temple.

"NO!" Dean shouted, stepping forward quickly, then stopping just as quickly as Sam stepped back closer to the edge. He threw his hands up, breathing harshly, before backing up slowly. "All right, not moving forward, now let's just...just _talk_ about this, okay?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean, I know what I have to do. What The Demon told me...it's got plans for me. You heard it too. I don't know what they are, but they can't be good." He let out a humorless laugh. "These plans were important enough to The Demon to kill Mom, Jess...it would've killed you if Dad hadn't stepped in, overpowered it for just that half second. My entire life, there's been nothing but death for the people around me. Maybe that's what its plans are."

"Or maybe it wants you to collect butterflies all day long," Dean retorted. It wasn't a very good one (for crying out loud, _butterflies_?) but it was all he could breathe out.

Sam pursed his lips. "It's not funny, Dean."

"I'm not laughing, Sam."

"Then you know why I have to do this," Sam said, and he'd cocked the gun before Dean could say anything else.

"No you _don't_," Dean stressed, his eyes darting from Sam to the gun. Sam. Gun. Sam. Gun. "You don't know what the hell The Demon's plans are, Sam. And they haven't hit yet. It's still _got_ plans. It's not today."

"But it could be tomorrow!" Sam said, and his voice raised a bit beyond the steadfast calm and determination that had been there. Upset and emotional Sam was a Sam Dean could deal with. One that was resolute and closed down wasn't one that Dean was sure he could reach.

Physically, Sam was still out of his reach as well, though not as far now. The gun was still aimed to go clear through his little brother's brain, but he'd stepped forward a little bit with his last sentence, and if Dean could get him to come a little closer, then he'd have one method of death shoved behind them, and he could work on the gun.

"Sam, you don't _know_ that, though. At this point, we're both clueless, and this is _not_ the answer! Remember Max? This was his answer," Dean said, gesturing towards the gun. "You gonna do the same thing? Huh?"

"Dean, I could get you _killed_," and his brother's voice broke on the last word. It still ripped a part of Dean inside to hear it, but the larger part of him was glad to hear the broken tone.

Because the gun hand was trembling, now. Tremble a little further, and Dean could make a move for it.

Sam inhaled sharply and shook his head. "I won't let it come to that. Just...just go, please?" The gun was held more tightly, pressed more firmly to his skull, and all of Dean's hopes fell fast enough to make his stomach roll.

"Sammy," he called, softly with a tinge of desperate pleading, but Sam shook his head.

"No. I won't be the thing that you have to deal with later down the road. I didn't even want you to know about this, and I managed to screw that up, too." The disappointment earlier hadn't been aimed at Dean, then; it had been aimed at himself. "You're falling apart and I can't do anything or say anything that'll make it right. You lost Dad, Dean."

"So did you!" Dean said, voice loud again, and Sam froze, as if this was new information instead of the obvious truth that it was. Somehow, Sam had gotten it into his head that only Dean's pain mattered, and it made his stomach twist into knots. He'd really been _that_ self absorbed, and it floored him to think that he'd been so wrapped up in his own pain that he'd not only ignored Sam's, but had given his brother the impression that only Dean was suffering. That Dean's grief was the only thing that held weight and was worth something.

"Oh, _Sammy_," Dean breathed, his eyes burning.

The gun hand trembled again. "I..." Sam started, but didn't finish.

_I'm sorry_ wasn't good enough. Not for what Dean had done. "I'm sorry," he said anyways, his throat closing up. "Sammy, I'm sorry."

Sam stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head. "No. No, Dean. I am. _Please_ go back to..."

"Don't even ask, 'cause I'm not doing it," Dean cut in, glaring at his brother as best he could with tears in his eyes. "I'm not leaving you, Sam."

"You have to," Sam managed to get out, stepping forward in his earnestness. One more step, and he'd be far enough from the ledge that Dean's chest might release a little. "I don't want to be a burden that you have to deal with now that Dad's not here to do it."

"Burden...?" Dean sputtered, eyes wide in disbelief, but Sam pushed through.

"I will _not_ be a puppet for that...that _thing_ that killed Mom and Jess and who knows how many other innocent women. And I sure as hell don't want you to have to be the one to pull that trigger. I can't ask that of you."

"You better not," Dean said angrily, blinking away the tears. "Because if you ever, _ever_ ask me to take out my little brother then so help me, I'll kick your ass from here back to your little apartment I found you in, and then I'll kick you right back here to do it again. We'll find another way," he added, stepping forward again.

"Dean, I have to end this," Sam said desperately, and he matched Dean's step, finally away from that freakin' ledge. They were only a few feet apart now, and the gun hand was shaking. A sudden new thought hit Dean like a sledgehammer, that in his trembling and shaking, Sam's finger might just pull the trigger.

"We will, but we're not ending you," Dean said, shaking his head furiously. "That doesn't happen now or ever. I mean it."

"But..."

"Don't you 'but' me. We'll make it through; you know how I know that? Because I'm the big brother, and I'm supposed to look out for you." Bang-up job he'd done lately; he'd sent his brother into a spiral of depression and had almost gotten him killed. "That's my job, Sammy. And I take it seriously."

"Then..." Sam swallowed, and Dean hoped that something he'd said would sink into his brother's dense skull, because if the words didn't get through, if Dean didn't get through, then the bullet would.

Sam's eyes glistened, before tears began making their way down his cheeks. "Then why do you keep shoving me away? Why won't you just _talk_ to me, for once?" There was anger in his tone, a confused type of anger that Dean had never been happier to hear. "You won't say ANYTHING to me anymore, Dean! How are you supposed to be the big brother when the little brother doesn't even exist? You've been angry at me for days, and all I've wanted to do was change places with Dad, because then maybe I figured you'd be happy, because it sure as hell isn't me that you want around, because I've been around, and all you do is ignore me and glare at me and shove me away and-"

Dean leapt forward and shoved, his hands to Sam's wildly gesturing hand with the gun, and it slid from Sam's grasp. They wound up on the ground, with Sam's head precariously near the ledge, getting closer inch by inch as he fought with his brother.

Then Sam stopped struggling and started crying, clutching at Dean's t-shirt and burying his face in the fabric. Dean sat back and grabbed his brother's arms, hauling him into an awkward sitting position, but he didn't care. All he cared about was his brother, and he didn't even want to _think_ about what could've happened if Dean hadn't woken up, if Dean hadn't gotten to him in time.

"It's gonna be all right," he choked out, wrapping his brother in his arms tightly. Sam continued to sob into his shirt, and he clenched his eyes shut, feeling the tears run down his cheeks. "I'll make it all right, Sammy, I _swear_. I'm so sorry, Sammy, I'm so sorry..."

He'd make it all right. He didn't care what it took. He couldn't believe what an _idiot_ he'd been. He'd been so wrapped up in losing one family member that he'd almost lost another.

No, it was time to shift the priorities back to where they needed to be. He was the one who was supposed to look out and worry about his brother; Sam shouldn't have had to pick it up. It was Dean's job that he'd ask for again and again, and he couldn't imagine his days without it.

"I'm gonna make it right again," he whispered in his brother's ear. "I promise, Sammy."

* * *

"You boys don't do anything by halves, do you?" Bobby asked Dean softly about two hours later. Sam heard him all the same, though. And no, they didn't do anything by halves, they were Winchesters, and remembering the many times his dad had said those very words made Sam's heart twist and ache. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he wished he could take John Winchester's place: dead and gone.

But when Dean had said he'd make everything right again, apparently he hadn't been kidding either.

After Sam had calmed himself down, there hadn't been anything to feel except a hollow ache in his chest. That and Dean, who hadn't let go of him even as he'd pulled him to his feet. Even as they'd made their way down the rocks to Bobby, who had discreetly wiped away his own tears before the boys got to him, Dean hadn't let go. Even when Sam hadn't said anything, Dean still hadn't let go.

The trip back hadn't been silent, by any means. Dean had murmured soft assurances all the way back to Bobby's house, keeping his grip gentle but firmly on Sam's shoulder. Sam hadn't heard his brother say things like that since they were kids and he'd crawled into his brother's bed to chase away nightmares. Maybe that's why Dean had chosen the age old phrases he'd used back then, like "It's gonna be okay," and "Shh, I'm right here," and "It'll be all right, I promise". The entire situation had been a nightmare.

"Hey," Dean said quietly, kneeling in front of him. Sam didn't think his brother was ever going to let him out of his sight anymore. It was ironic that the thing he'd wanted most was now the thing that was tying his stomach into knots.

A steaming mug was in his brother's right hand, and he handed it to Sam, making sure it was cradled in his hands before rising again. "You boys gonna be all right?" Bobby asked gruffly.

There was a moment of silence, and Sam knew Dean was looking at him before he answered, "Yeah, we'll be all right. Go back to bed; we've got a car to finish tomorrow."

The wooden boards creaked as Bobby headed back to bed, and the sofa creaked softly as Dean took a seat beside his brother. Sam kept his gaze locked on the liquid in his hands. He hadn't intended for things to go the way they had. It had been a simple thing, or so he'd planned.

He hadn't planned on Dean waking up and chasing after him.

They sat in silence for a few moments more, before Dean cleared his throat. "We should have the Impala up and running tomorrow. I was thinking about spending another day or so here, give me some time to make her pretty again because hell knows she deserves it for what she's been through, but if you just wanna hit the road, we can."

The aroma from the coffee took a moment to pull away from. "Where would we go?" he said, the first thing he'd said since the rocks. His voice sounded rough, like he'd swallowed glass. It felt like he had, too. Shards ripping him apart inside, tearing his heart up as they went down.

"That job you mentioned yesterday, about eighty miles out I think you said. Always something out there waiting."

Sam finally pulled his gaze from the coffee to look over at his brother. Dean's face was dry now, and he remembered the way his brother's tears had shone in the moonlight on the walk back, even while he'd smiled at Sam and told him it'd be okay. "You...you don't want to get on a job, Dean," he said, frowning. "You haven't in ages. Why the sudden rush now?"

It was Dean who looked away first, sighing as he rubbed his hands together. "I didn't want a job because...because a job means more fighting, more bloodshed on our side, more chances of losing someone, and I can't damn well do it anymore." The sudden surge of anger faded as quickly as it had come when his brother laughed bitterly. "But we weren't even on a job tonight and I almost lost you anyways."

The knots in his stomach only tightened, like a bad pretzel that was attempting to do yoga, and Sam _really_ needed to wake up before he tried analogies. He took a sip of the coffee and closed his eyes as it ran down his throat and warmed his insides. "Dean, I-"

"You're not a burden," Dean interrupted, turning to face his brother. "And I'm only gonna say this once because this isn't gonna be an issue after tonight, so you better listen up. You are _not_ a burden, you hear me? You never have been. Not to me, not to...not to Dad," and he swallowed before he continued. "And I don't know what the hell this thing's plans are, but we'll get through them. I'm not gonna let it win and take you. You're my little brother, and it's my job to keep you safe."

"But I'm still a _job_," Sam argued. "I always have been."

"You're not hearin' me, Sammy," Dean said like he had a year ago as he'd asked Sam to go with him. "It's a job I took willingly, and it's a job I'm not giving up. Not now, not ever. I took a break, yeah, and I was a jerk about it. All the more proof that I need to stay on the job."

"I didn't want it like this," Sam blurted out, needing to tell Dean that his actions tonight hadn't been for this.

The corners of his brother's lips turned up. "I sure as hell hope not," Dean said, and the sight of his brother smirking at him pulled some of the shards from his soul.

The small smile fell a moment later, and Dean sighed. "So...can you leave the worrying to me? Be the little brother again?" The unspoken words were heard loud and clear: _Will you let me be the big brother again?_

Sam gazed at him for a moment, then set the coffee mug on the table in front of him. When he turned back to Dean, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips that was fast becoming corporeal. "I'm always going to worry," he replied. _Yeah, I'm good with that; promise me you'll keep the job this time?_

"That's always been your problem," Dean grumbled, but he leaned back against the sofa and to the left a little. "We'd be just fine if you didn't worry so damn much." _I'm not giving it up again. I promise._

Sam leaned his head against Dean's open shoulder, and it was only then that he realized that the knots in his stomach were fading away to nothing. He remembered his earlier worry about losing his brother, that he was running out of time to do anything about it. He knew that Dean would always view tonight as the night he'd almost lost his kid brother and had managed to get him back. In the end of things, though, Sam had gotten Dean back, had managed to pull him out of whatever hell his brother had been in for the past couple of weeks.

He had his brother back. Tonight had been worth all the tears and the fears if it meant he had Dean back.

"We can stay a few more days. The car _does_ deserve a fresh coat of paint and a waxing."

"Yeah she does. And if you're gonna help, you need to eat something, because if you pass out while we're working on the car, so help me, I'll kick your ass."

There wasn't anything ghostly about Sam's smile now. He definitely had his brother back.

He never saw his brother glance down at him to see Sam's smile. He never saw Dean turn his gaze from him back to the room in front of them, a smile on his own face as they sat in the lightening room, sunlight beginning to peek over the edges of the windows.


End file.
